


Honeymooners

by shoebox_addict



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Bathing/Washing, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Dining at the Ritz (Good Omens), Domestic Bliss, First Time, Gender Fuckery, Hand Jobs, Holiday Decorations, Honeymoon, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Vaginal Fingering, Wing Grooming, fluffy hotel robes, roundabout proposals, they're switches bitches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:54:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28560885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoebox_addict/pseuds/shoebox_addict
Summary: After Armageddon goes down like a lead balloon, Aziraphale and Crowley take a break from London and revel in the newer aspects of their relationship.[Written for the Good Omens Holiday Exchange 2020]
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 98
Collections: Good Omens Holiday Exchange 2020





	Honeymooners

**Author's Note:**

  * For [waterofthemoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterofthemoon/gifts).



> This was written for @waterofthemoon, for the Good Omens Holiday Exchange over on Dreamwidth. I was so honored to participate in this long-running event, and I had so, so much fun writing this. Hope you enjoy!

It had all happened rather quickly, if one ignored the six-thousand-year courtship. After eleven years of pure, distilled anxiety and one week of complete apoplexy, armageddon came and went without much faff. At least, not for the world at large. For one angel and one demon, it was perhaps the most stressful twenty-four hours they’d ever experienced. Afterward, that stress had to _go_ somewhere. 

In theory, the stress could have been off-loaded into just about anything. Aziraphale could have gone straight back to the bookshop to re-catalogue his collection. Crowley could have gone on a grand mischief-causing spree. But when they’d met in the lobby, still wearing each other’s skin, one look had said it all. Somehow they were instantly on the same page, and there was only one thing for it. 

The Ritz had some rather luxurious rooms, but all they really needed was a bed. For the first time in a very long time, they simply went with whatever was available rather than miracling up the absolute best. It felt appropriate, somehow, to do things the human way when such human feelings were involved. Every moment in the lift was agony, released into sweet relief as soon as the door to their hastily rented room was closed.

“Inevitable, really,” said Crowley, lying in Aziraphale’s arms fifteen minutes later.

“Oh? You were so sure this would happen?”

“‘Course,” Crowley lied, with a forced nonchalance. “We’ve been simmering for ages.” 

Aziraphale chuckled, a low and throaty sound. “I never thought we'd get here. But it rather makes sense that the world needed to nearly end before we did.” 

Crowley turned his head so he could look at Aziraphale, properly look at him, and again they were on the same page. They’d been on the same page before, but never this openly and never about each other. There had always been something in the way, usually Heaven or Hell. But those impediments were gone, the walls had been torn down. In a way, the end of the world was the best thing that had ever happened to them. 

After another well-utilized hour in the room, they made their way downstairs for a decadent meal. Aziraphale pronounced it the only proper thing to follow their official consummation. Crowley objected very strongly to the use of the word _consummation,_ but he still took the angel’s hand in the lift. And the word choice was entirely forgiven and forgotten as Crowley watched Aziraphale devour all the rich food he could possibly want. 

“What next, angel?” he asked, as Aziraphale patted the fancy cloth napkin against his lips. Lips that, Crowley reminded himself, had been kissing his own in the very recent past. 

“We could go back upstairs,” Aziraphale began, and then hesitated. “But, perhaps...could we see the shop?” 

Crowley took a stuttering breath that he hoped Aziraphale didn’t notice. “Sure. Yeah, of course.”

“You said it had been restored, yes?”

“Mmm, yep,” said Crowley, nodding and pushing his sunglasses back up his nose.

Aziraphale smiled and set his napkin on the table. “Well, I’ve been away for far too long. And I’d love to see the interesting additions that Adam’s made.” 

If pressed -- and it would have to be a very violent pressing -- Crowley would likely name the bookshop as his favorite place on earth. It was certainly the place where he most enjoyed spending his time. But the thought of setting foot inside it again made his stomach drop down to his knees. While inspecting it that morning, in Aziraphale’s body, it became clear that his memories of the fire were still rather raw. He’d been quite happy to leave for his rendezvous with Aziraphale in the park. But he understood why the angel would like to see it for himself, and saying ‘no’ to Aziraphale was not exactly in his skill set. 

The old facade looked just as it always had, save for a memorable six hours or so. Crowley focused on Aziraphale rather than on the shop, watching the way he lit up and excitedly pushed his way through the front doors. Crowley lingered by the till while Aziraphale flitted about the place, checking for specific volumes and making a careful accounting of the papers and books piled on his desk. 

Rather suddenly, as he stepped onto the rug that covered his gateway to Heaven, Aziraphale stopped. His relieved smile fell, and he pressed a hand very gently to his chest. “Oh. Oh, dear.” 

“What?” said Crowley, rushing to his side. “What’s wrong?” 

Aziraphale swallowed audibly and turned to look at him. “Well, it’s just...do you remember that stain on my coat? How I said I’d always know it was there, even if I miracled it away? Something rather similar is happening here, I’m afraid.” 

“What? Can you feel the fire?”

“I can’t _feel_ it, per se, but it’s left behind something of an impression. Oh, goodness. It’s...it’s rather powerful.” 

“Steady, angel,” said Crowley, as Aziraphale staggered back to lean against a pillar. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.” 

“Where can we go?” said Aziraphale, his breath coming quickly now.

“St. James’, back to the Ritz, anywhere.”

“We can't exactly stay at the Ritz forever,” said Aziraphale. He glanced around the shop, and then back at Crowley. “I...this is my home.” 

Crowley crumbled under the sudden despair in Aziraphale’s gaze. Technically, they could probably stay at the Ritz as long as they liked. Money was certainly no object, and they could easily deflect attention from their extended stay. But if that wasn’t what Aziraphale wanted, then Crowley would have to come up with something better. He tried not to panic, mind whirling this way and that as he cast about for a solution. 

He snapped his fingers (just a regular snap, no demonic energy necessary). “I’ve got it. Listen. Everyone needs a holiday sometimes, eh?” 

“A holiday?” 

“Yeah, some time away from all this,” said Crowley, waving his hand at the bookshop. “We can go anywhere you like. Just name the place.” 

Aziraphale paused, seemingly considering the idea. “I suppose we could use a holiday.”

“Perfect time for one, really. The world’s all new and saved -- ripe for the plucking.”

“And now that we’ve consummated our relationship,” said Aziraphale, pointedly ignoring Crowley’s groan. “This could be something of a honeymoon.” 

That stopped Crowley short, as he could find no issue with the word _honeymoon_. He softened and drew Aziraphale close, holding him in the place where he’d lost him, and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. “Yeah. It could be.”

~ ~ ~

There was no plan and only the barest hint of packing. A loose jumble of things (mostly books) found their way into an old travel trunk of Aziraphale’s, which he then snapped into the Bentley. Crowley gave his plants a stern lecture, and they were off.

They drove south from London, through rolling fields of green, until they reached the coastline. They had ice cream on the pier at Brighton (well, Aziraphale had ice cream) and stood on the beach, watching the water roll in toward the sand. Aziraphale seemed moved, eyes moist as he squeezed Crowley’s fingers between his own. Crowley didn’t ask what he was thinking, he simply held his hand. Later that night, in the first hotel they could find, they made love much more slowly than they had at the Ritz. There was more tenderness than urgency this time, more gentle touches and soft words. Afterward, they decided to keep moving south. 

So they crossed to the continent, eating their way across France, and admiring the views in Switzerland, until they ended up in Italy. Crowley had seen Lake Como on the cover of a tabloid once, in a story about some annoying celebrity couple, and he decided it would be a good place to stop for a while. He was right. 

“It’s simply marvelous!” Aziraphale called from the bathroom. “The bathtub is enormous.” 

“If you think that’s something, come and see the view,” Crowley called back. He leaned his elbows on the terrace railing and stared out at the crystal blue water. 

“Absolutely gorgeous,” said Aziraphale, stepping out onto the terrace. “And the view is rather lovely as well.” 

“Stop it,” said Crowley, shifting to bump his hip against Aziraphale’s. 

“I don’t think I will, ever,” said Aziraphale. He pressed close into Crowley’s personal space, nosing up against the tattoo beside his ear. 

“ _Hnng,_ ” said Crowley, leaning into the touch, looping an arm around Aziraphale’s waist to pull him even closer. “Well. If you must…”

France and Switzerland had felt like part of a journey, but Italy definitely felt like a destination. With a quick google, Crowley had found the most ridiculously luxurious place they could stay -- the Grand Hotel Tremezzo. Miraculously, the rooftop penthouse was available, and they’d booked in for a two-week stay. After two weeks, they reasoned, they could decide whether two weeks were enough.

“There are _two_ hot tubs,” said Crowley. “Y’know, in case we get sick of one.” 

“There are two beds as well,” said Aziraphale. “We should definitely test both.” 

“Sensible.” Crowley turned and pushed his sunglasses up into his hair. “What’s the verdict on the holiday, then?” 

Aziraphale took a deep breath and looked out at the lake. Then he turned back to Crowley and smiled. “It’s been wonderful, my dear. Simply splendid.” 

Crowley felt a brief flash of worry that Aziraphale was simply pretending to be all right, that he was pretending the holiday had made him feel better. But then he remembered what an atrocious liar Aziraphale was, and there really was no denying the genuine warmth in that smile. He reached out to cradle his cheek, smiling back when Aziraphale leaned into the touch, and then kissed him. It was something he’d wanted to do for six millennia, and now he’d done it astonishingly often in a very short space of time. 

“We could test one of them now,” said Aziraphale, when he pulled back. “The beds, I mean.” 

Crowley grinned. “No time like the present.” 

As they came together again and began a leisurely journey toward the nearest of the two beds, everything in their path moved aside. The step from the terrace into the room evened out into a ramp, the footstool shifted two feet to the left, and a floor lamp practically leapt into the kitchen. When Aziraphale bumped into the bed itself, he plopped down and pulled Crowley forward, coaxing him to climb onto the bed and straddle his waist. 

“Have I told you,” said Crowley, in between kisses. “How beautiful you are?”

“Not since Bern,” said Aziraphale.

“Long overdue, then.” Crowley kissed as though he were trying to devour, one thumb worrying gently at the little roll of fat below Aziraphale’s chin. His other hand crept downward to cup Aziraphale through his trousers. “Trying something different?” 

“I thought it might be fun.” Aziraphale squirmed, trying to press down against Crowley’s hand. “I can change if you like.” 

“No, I agree, it’s fun,” said Crowley. “Might change later on, myself.” 

An unexpected fringe benefit of being on holiday was Aziraphale’s holiday clothes. On the morning they’d crossed to France, he’d surprised Crowley by donning a simple linen shirt with his usual trousers, an ascot replacing his bowtie. Crowley had actually stood waiting for him to add more layers, and Aziraphale had had to announce that he was ready to leave. Since then, fewer layers had become the norm. Not only was it thrilling to see Aziraphale so dressed down, it also made him far easier to undress completely.

“And when are you going to make things easier for me, my dear?” said Aziraphale, sitting topless on the bed and fumbling with Crowley’s trousers. 

“Had to wait for the right setting,” said Crowley, snapping his fingers to banish his trousers to wherever they went when he snapped his fingers. “Now that we’re in Italy, it’s time to bust out the dresses.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, you mustn’t tease me.” 

“M’not, I promise,” said Crowley, kissing down his chest. 

“Well, I can’t wait for the big reveal.”

Aziraphale pushed Crowley’s shirt off his shoulders, and Crowley pushed him down onto the bed. With another snap, his tight boxers were gone and he focused his attention on Aziraphale’s trousers, looking to level the naked playing field. Aziraphale reached down to help him, frantically unbuttoning and unzipping, and then shoving his trousers down his hips. Crowley slid them off the rest of the way and tugged at his boxers. When he revealed the new effort nestled between Aziraphale’s legs, he flicked his eyes upward and stared him down until he blushed.

“You’re leering,” Aziraphale scolded, even as he spread his legs. 

“You’re irresistible,” Crowley countered, crawling up to kiss him soundly. He reached down to touch Aziraphale, just a light swipe of his fingers, and thrilled at the way he gasped.

“It’s...you… _gosh,_ ” said Aziraphale. “It’s awfully sensitive, isn’t it?”

Crowley nodded. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, angel.” 

As he leaned down for another kiss, slow and deep, Crowley ran his fingers along Aziraphale's labia, learning this new part of him. Every moan was a reward for touching him just right, for finding the right spot. He pulled back from the kiss as he began circling his thumb around Aziraphale’s clit. He watched as Aziraphale’s eyes glazed over, as his breath came more quickly, as he strained up against Crowley’s hand. 

“What d’you think?” said Crowley, though the answer was written plainly on Aziraphale’s face.

“Incredible,” he replied, the word punched out between moans. “Positively...exquisite.”

“Better than that souffle at the Ritz?”

Aziraphale considered this for a moment. “Apples and oranges, darling.” 

Crowley gaped at him, but a fond smile pushed its way through his mock indignation. “I can’t believe you!”

“The two are simply not comparable,” said Aziraphale, squeezing his eyes shut as Crowley pressed his thumb down. “Now...complementary, certainly.”

“Complementary?”

“Yes, I...if you fed me a souffle while you...did what you’re doing just now, well, that would simply…”

Aziraphale trailed off as Crowley pressed one finger inside him, crooked it just so and continued rubbing his clit. He threw his head back, breathing very hard now as Crowley worked his magic. Crowley took the opportunity to kiss his lovely neck, biting gently at the spot where his pulse thundered. He smiled against the angel’s skin as his moans became more desperate.

Then, suddenly, “Wait, stop…”

“What?” said Crowley, pulling his hand away. 

And in that instant, Aziraphale caught him by the shoulders and rolled them over on the bed, their legs tangling as Aziraphale seized the upper hand. Crowley stared up at him, stunned for a moment before he tried to surge back up off the bed. Aziraphale pinned him there, one hand pressed to his chest. 

“You _bastard,_ ” said Crowley, but the accusation was rather defanged by fondness. 

“Fair’s fair,” said Aziraphale, rather smugly. “If you’re going to enjoy me, you simply must let me enjoy you in return.” 

Crowley licked his lips and pushed up against Aziraphale’s strength. “Get on with it, then.” 

“My dear,” said Aziraphale, leaning down until his perfect upturned nose was just inches from Crowley’s. “When making love, one does not simply _get on with it._ ”

“Oh, yeah?” Crowley wanted very much to kiss him, but he really couldn’t move. “Show me."

“With pleasure.”

Aziraphale closed the gap between them, threading his hands into Crowley’s hair as he kissed him deeply. Crowley moaned and pushed up again, but Aziraphale’s hand was planted firmly on his breastbone. The pressure on his chest and the way Aziraphale pulled his hair just so joined forces and went straight to his cock. He’d been hard since he’d discovered Aziraphale’s new effort, but the situation was becoming desperate. When Aziraphale pulled back to press kisses under his jaw, Crowley might have whimpered, but he’d prefer if no one knew. Aziraphale knew, of course, and that was fine because Aziraphale had always been a special case in these matters.

“Angel, please,” Crowley moaned. 

“Mmm, you taste so lovely, my dear.” 

“Yeah? Would I pair well with a souffle?”

“Oh, yes, definitely.” 

“Great. Wonderful,” said Crowley. “Would you...could you touch me?”

“I am touching you, you silly demon.”

“You’re killing me.” 

“Darling...dearest… _cara mia_...” said Aziraphale, each new endearment accompanied by a kiss.

“Literally about to combust." 

“I don’t think you know the meaning of the word _literally_.”

“Y’could wait and find out, or you could bloody well touch me already.” 

In response Aziraphale simply hummed, clearly pleased with himself. He removed the hand that anchored Crowley to the bed and ran it ever so slowly down Crowley’s body. Those plump, manicured fingers seemed to leave a trail of fire as they passed over his breastbone, the flat plane of his stomach, and the thin trail of hair that lead ever downward. Until finally, Aziraphale’s hand closed around Crowley’s straining cock and he let out a moan that may have been accompanied by tears. 

“There we are,” said Aziraphale, keeping his grip firm as he gazed down at Crowley, admiring the pleasure that passed over his face.

“Yes, yes, yes,” said Crowley, lost in a fog as Aziraphale rubbed his thumb over the slit of his cock, spreading his own wetness as he stroked him. 

Crowley melted into the mattress and surrendered to the many sensations vying for his attention. Aziraphale’s hand was soft, so soft, and he’d already learned just how to make Crowley lose his mind. They’d only done this a handful of times, and already they knew how to take each other apart. It was as if the knowledge had always been there, just below the surface. It had certainly felt that way at times -- for example, any time Crowley had watched Aziraphale eat anything. And now it was set loose, and Crowley didn’t care if this was all they did for the entire two weeks of their stay at Fancy House McVilla, because as far as he was concerned they’d earned this.

“Just...yeah...like that,” he babbled, reaching out to grab any part of Aziraphale he could find. His hand landed on Aziraphale’s hip and he squeezed, grounded by the solidity of him. 

And then he saw stars, hips jerking up from the bed as he came for what felt like eons. As he came down, limbs loosening and a vaguely sticky feeling on his stomach making itself known, Crowley gazed up at Aziraphale’s angelic face. It might’ve been silly to call an angel angelic, but there was no other word for the lovely smile and soft look in those blue-gray eyes. Crowley drew him down into a kiss, tasting him leisurely.

“I do love the way you babble in the throes of ecstasy,” said Aziraphale. 

“Ready to do some babbling of your own?”

“Oh, please,” said Aziraphale. “By all means, continue to enjoy me.” 

“ _Ngk._ ” If Crowley really wanted to, he could fuck Aziraphale into the mattress. Angels and demons were not beholden to refractory periods, a rather glorious fact they’d discovered in Nice. But he had other plans, so he kissed Aziraphale again, gradually rising up from the bed and shifting so he could push the angel down onto his back. Aziraphale went willingly, splaying out on the duvet, as though he needed to make himself any more delectable than he already was.

Crowley began his descent with a soft kiss in the hollow of Aziraphale’s throat. He nosed at a nipple, pressed the flat of his tongue along the angel’s breastbone and savored the rasp of pale hair. He kissed him here and there, choosing spots at random because there were now very few bits of Aziraphale’s body that Crowley had not kissed. As he mouthed along one chubby thigh, Crowley cast his glance upward. Aziraphale seemed so perfectly at ease, more content than Crowley had ever seen him before. He couldn’t wait to hear the sounds he’d make.

“Oh,” he said, low and surprised as Crowley dipped his head down between Aziraphale’s thighs.

“This okay?” Crowley asked, glancing up again. 

“Yes, of course,” said Aziraphale. “I’m just...well, I’m rather excited.” 

“I can see that,” Crowley grinned. “You’re bloody dripping, angel.” 

Crowley ducked down and licked a stripe up Aziraphale’s inner thigh. He heard the angel gasp, and then a moan resonated from his very core as Crowley turned his head to lick at his outer labia. He stayed there for a bit, not wanting to overwhelm Aziraphale just yet, but then plump fingers slid into his hair and tugged, clearly urging him on. So Crowley shifted closer and pressed his tongue flat against Aziraphale, licking up to his clit, delighting in the way Aziraphale’s hips bucked in response.

“Oh, _f-fuck,_ ” Aziraphale moaned. He wrapped his legs around Crowley, trapping him there, heels digging into the backs of his thighs. “More. Please, more…” 

As a cursory glance into their past would show, Crowley was something of a master at indulging Aziraphale’s requests. So when Aziraphale asked for more, Crowley went all in. He flicked his tongue (now forked) against Aziraphale’s swollen clit, then drifted down to tongue at his entrance, fucking into him when Aziraphale growled for more still.

The angel’s thighs shook as Crowley lavished him with attention, moving back up to suck at his clit. Aziraphale’s fingers gripped Crowley’s hair harder, pulling him in, begging for more, until he went rigid, shouting Crowley’s name to the ceiling of their extravagant suite. 

“So,” said Crowley, several seconds later. “What’s the verdict on switching things up?” 

Aziraphale, loose-limbed and spread eagle on the bed, turned his head to look at him through hazy blue eyes. “Ten out of ten, my dear.” 

Crowley chuckled and pushed his face into the warm, sweaty crook of Aziraphale’s neck. He might take up residence there, grab some change of address forms. 

The door to the terrace was still open, and a warm breeze wafted inside. Far, far below them the crystal blue water lapped at the shore. Crowley felt so absurdly content that he thought he should probably pinch himself. Surely this wasn’t real, surely he’d dreamt the past couple of weeks. But Aziraphale lay beside him, solid and warm and _there._ Crowley curled an arm around him and squeezed gently, which prompted Aziraphale to turn toward him.

“Should we get washed up? The human way?” he said, batting his lashes a bit.

“Y’know you don’t have to do that, angel,” said Crowley. “I just went down on you. We’ve crossed a line, you can just ask for stuff.” 

“Sorry,” said Aziraphale, going a bit pink. “I’ve become quite accustomed to subterfuge.”

“I know, love.” Crowley pressed a kiss to the angel’s temple. “And I know you’re dying to try out that massive tub, so let’s go.” 

Crowley could accommodate Aziraphale’s desire to do things the human way up to a point. The tub truly was massive, and he wasn’t too keen on waiting for it to fill. So he snapped his fingers and raised his eyebrows at Aziraphale's frown. “Oh, you were going to miracle it to the perfect temperature anyway.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips in a way that usually meant, “well yes, but you needn’t have mentioned it.” Then he gestured toward the tub and the scent of lavender drifted up from the water. When Crowley gave him a look, Aziraphale simply shrugged and stepped into the tub. Crowley waited, partly to let him get settled and partly to _watch him_ get settled. There was nothing quite like Aziraphale getting settled; it could take him twenty minutes to attain the perfect reading conditions. Here he sat down slowly, smiling as though he’d eaten a particularly scrumptious dessert, and wiggled a bit until he leaned back against the tub’s edge.

“Comfortable?” said Crowley. His teasing was so full of fondness these days that there was hardly any point in trying to make it sound like teasing. 

“Very,” said Aziraphale. “But I would be infinitely more comfortable with you in here as well.”

Crowley smirked and swung one long leg over the edge. The water was perfect -- not too hot, not too cold -- so there was no need to ease his way in. He plopped down into the water, with only a small resulting splash, and slid back between Aziraphale’s legs. The angel waited, letting him settle on his own before wrapping strong arms around him. Crowley laid back and smiled when Aziraphale pressed his face into his hair. 

“Are _you_ comfortable?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley could hear the smile in his voice. 

“Very. This is fucking blissful.” Crowley let his eyes drift shut as Aziraphale threaded his fingers into his hair, scratching gently at his scalp. “Keep that up and I’ll fall asleep.” 

“Oh, by all means. You know, we have absolutely nowhere to be.” 

“Mmm,” Crowley hummed. “Nowhere to be, no assignments...no masters.” 

“No, indeed. Gosh, you’re right. We...we truly are free, aren’t we?” 

“As free as the wind. As free as the...”

“The ducks in St. James’ Park," Aziraphale supplied. "I do hope someone’s feeding them.” 

Crowley smiled, eyes still closed. “Don’t you worry, I’m sure they have other admirers.” 

Aziraphale hummed in agreement, fingers still moving hypnotically in Crowley’s hair. And Crowley did doze for a bit, though he wasn’t sure how long. They were free, after all, a thought that warmed his bones the way a good whiskey did. Who cared what time it was? The day slipped past, but the water in the tub remained at the perfect temperature. When Crowley drifted back to consciousness, he became aware of something soft rubbing his stomach. 

“Washing me, eh?” he said, tipping his head back to look at Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale looked down at him, startled. "Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think it would disturb you. We did come in here to wash up, after all, so I thought I’d better take care of that.”

“S’fine, don’t worry about it.” Crowley stretched his arms out to either side and shifted his head a bit, pushing his legs out to the other end of the tub-- a luxurious stretch, more cat-like than anything a snake might do. 

Aziraphale banished the wet flannel with a flourish and went back to cuddling Crowley. “Sleep well?”

Crowley nodded. “I was gonna tease you about the tub, if I’m honest. But this is lovely.”

“You’re lovely,” said Aziraphale. 

Well, Crowley couldn’t let that lie. He twisted around and got up on his knees, though the hard tub made them ache. He braced himself against the tub and leaned in for a kiss, slow and sweet to make Aziraphale’s toes curl. The angel smiled against his lips and dragged one hand up his spine to settle at the back of his neck. To be so close, to be so ensconced in each other was overwhelming in the best possible way. 

“Back to bed?” said Crowley, nuzzling his nose against Aziraphale’s.

“Yes, I think so,” said Aziraphale. “If only they could make bathtubs a bit more plush.” 

“There you go, you’ve got a retirement project,” said Crowley.

“Oh, and here I thought you’d want me all to yourself.” 

Aziraphale pulled the stopper in the tub and took Crowley’s hand, stabilizing them both as they stood up and climbed out. Crowley grabbed the pair of exceedingly fluffy robes provided by the hotel and tossed one to Aziraphale. As the angel shrugged it on and belted it around his waist, he looked so utterly huggable that Crowley couldn’t resist. He all but tackled him, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him into something of a swaying dance.

“You know, I’d prefer not to be knocked over and discorporated in the bathroom of an Italian villa,” said Aziraphale, cheek pressed against Crowley’s.

“In future, I’ll tackle you only around soft furnishings,” said Crowley. 

“See that you do.” 

They spent a considerable amount of time snuggled up together amongst plush robes and expensive bedding. Crowley ran one finger up and down Aziraphale’s forearm, mussing the pale fuzz of hair that grew there. There was so much of Aziraphale that he’d never been able to touch before, so much of him had been embargoed. Now Crowley had touched it all, the most intimate parts of him, and the more mundane bits -- like the lovely soft hair on his arms. All of it was just as wonderful as he’d imagined. 

“What would you say to some room service?” 

“Ahh, I was waiting for that.” Crowley pushed up onto his elbows and leaned in for a kiss. “Midday meal, or skipping straight to dessert?” 

Aziraphale’s eyes grew wide. “You _wily_ serpent, you.” 

Crowley grinned at him and reached for the menu beside the bed. “Oh, angel, this is all right up your street. Here, have a look.” 

After much perusal and serious consideration, Aziraphale decided on sea bass with tarragon sauce and a frisee salad, ricotta tortelli, and roasted lamb with celeriac. All of this was to be followed by a passionfruit souffle, and of course accompanied by chardonnay and a pinot bianco. Crowley promised to nibble off each plate and drink enthusiastically from both bottles of wine. Of course, Aziraphale fully intended to sample the entire menu over the course of their stay.

“And...well, it would be nice to dine in the actual restaurant,” said Aziraphale. “I caught sight of it when we first checked in, and it looks rather romantic.”

“Of course!” said Crowley. “What’s a honeymoon without a proper romantic dinner?”

At this, Aziraphale’s expression went all gooey, and he pulled Crowley in by the lapels of his fluffy robe. They had some time before the food would arrive, and they decided to use it wisely.

If Aziraphale's reactions were any way to judge, the food was delicious. Whenever his ecstasy became too much for him to handle on his own, he offered Crowley a forkful to share in the experience. The souffle disappeared very quickly, indeed. But Crowley mostly contented himself with lounging on the bed and taking long drinks from his wine glass. 

“Course,” he said. “‘S’not really a honeymoon. Is it?”

Aziraphale glanced up from the roasted lamb. “How do you mean?” 

“Well, we haven’t got married.”

“No, there is that.” 

“Should be calling it a, er...post-apocalypse jamboree.”

Aziraphale scrunched up his nose. “A bit wordy.” 

“Oh, yeah?” 

“And the word _jamboree_ is putting me off for some reason.” 

“C’mere, I’ll put _you_ off.” 

“What does that mean?” Aziraphale scoffed, grinning at him. “That’s not even a real threat.”

Crowley grinned right back. “Quibble about it later, I need to kiss you right now.” 

“So demanding…” 

Aziraphale trailed off as Crowley leaned in close, wine glass still dangling from one hand, and kissed him. Aziraphale tasted of lamb and passionfruit, which was an odd combination that worked somehow. When Crowley pulled back, he studied the angel’s flushed face, admiring the upturned nose and double chin. He looked like he wanted to say something, like words were tiptoeing their way to the edge of his tongue. 

“Something on your mind, angel?” Crowley asked. 

“A bit,” said Aziraphale, still hesitating. "Do you think…”

“Go on,” said Crowley. He reached out to caress one supple cheek, almost surged up to kiss him senseless again. 

“May I see your wings?”

“Oh.” 

“You can say no, that would be absolutely fine.” 

“No, it’s just...they’re just like yours. Only a bit, y’know, singed.”

“You mustn’t say that,” Aziraphale insisted. “When you took them out -- in your...time bubble, you remember -- I hadn’t seen them in so long. My dear, they were breathtaking. I would so love to see them again, but only if you’re willing.” 

“It’s fine, I’ll do it. I don’t mind.” 

Crowley snapped to relocate Aziraphale’s lavish feast to the nearest flat surface. Then he glanced around the room, deciding the best angle, judging how he could get his wings out and still maintain the integrity of their suite. He shifted slightly on the bed and let his robe down off his shoulders until it pooled around his waist. With a bit of concentration, there was a _whoosh_ , and Crowley’s wings fanned out behind him. Once they’d stretched to their full width, he reined them in a bit, folding them in closer to his body. After a moment, he felt brave enough to look up at Aziraphale.

There were tears in Aziraphale’s eyes and a sappy sort of smile on his face. “So lovely, just like you were in the garden.” 

“Hair was a bit longer then,” said Crowley. He felt completely taken apart under Aziraphale’s loving gaze. Setting aside the way he’d been looking at him in bed, this was entirely new. This was unfettered emotion, something Aziraphale had had to hide away before. The full force of it was frankly bowling Crowley over.

“Nevertheless.” Aziraphale reached out, and then hurriedly pulled his hand back. “Sorry. Would you mind if I touched them?”

“Of course,” said Crowley, softly. “I mean, no. I don’t mind.” 

Crowley sat very still as Aziraphale stroked his fingers along the edge of one wing, slowly venturing up further into inky black. Aziraphale was studying his wings, but Crowley was studying Aziraphale’s face. He felt hypnotized by the look of wonder and love swimming in those blue eyes. He felt the oddest urge to take Aziraphale down to the beach, to kiss him on the sand and compare his eyes to the clear water there. 

“Positively stunning,” he said. Then he trailed one hand up Crowley’s bare arm, past the shoulder and along his neck to settle against his jaw. He leaned in and kissed him, as soft as a breeze. 

“ _Angel,_ ” Crowley breathed against his lips. They pulled away, just enough to meet each other’s gaze. “Go on, then. Can I see yours?”

Aziraphale smiled shyly at him and leaned back to let down his own robe. Crowley bit his lip, forced himself not to reach out and touch the skin that had always been hidden beneath endless layers. And with another _whoosh_ , a cloud of fluffy white surrounded Aziraphale, making him look even more angelic than before. He glanced up at Crowley through his lashes, and now Crowley simply couldn’t resist him. He pressed in close, cupping Aziraphale’s face in both his hands, and kissed him soundly. 

“Oh my,” said Aziraphale, leaning his forehead against Crowley’s.

“Beautiful,” he said, reveling in the way Aziraphale blushed. “You’re practically glowing, angel.”

“I know they’re a bit rumpled…”

“Nonsense,” said Crowley, even though it was a fair assessment. Aziraphale (and angels in general, if he were being honest) had never been too interested in keeping his wings in order. 

“No, it’s all right, I know they are.” Aziraphale hesitated again, but not for long this time. “Might I ask you to groom them?” 

“Are you sure?”

Crowley had asked him the same thing at the Ritz, when they’d made love the first time. He wanted to be sure, he wanted Aziraphale to have exactly what he wanted. This almost felt more intimate, so he wanted to be doubly sure. But as soon as he asked the question, Aziraphale fixed him with a look that was so imbued with love and trust that the question seemed a bit silly. Still, he waited for an actual reply.

“Of course I’m sure,” said Aziraphale. Then his expression shifted into something more simpering, those eyelashes batting again. “Please, won’t you help me? I’m a poor, rumpled angel whose wings need to be set right.” 

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, all right. C’mere, you bastard…” 

Aziraphale shuffled backward on the bed to give himself some space and then laid down on his stomach, head cradled on his folded arms. Crowley pulled his own wings in further so they wouldn’t get in the way. Then he settled on his knees, straddling Aziraphale’s waist. 

Yes, Aziraphale’s feathers were rumpled, but they were also indescribably soft. No matter how neat and orderly Crowley made his own feathers, there was always a certain sharpness to them. Maybe it was just his imagination, because Aziraphale hadn’t shied away from touching them, but he knew they weren’t as soft as this. At first he simply sunk his fingers into the downy fluff of them, revelling in the closeness. He pressed a kiss to the back of Aziraphale’s neck and soaked in the sound of the angel’s satisfied sigh. 

Crowley started with the primaries on the right wing, gently combing through them and shifting some wayward feathers into place. Aziraphale seemed at ease, so he moved into secondaries and up into the coverts. The angel shivered a bit as Crowley’s fingers strayed close to the bone, massaging ever so slightly before sliding into the scapulars. He spent the most time here, straightening and massaging until Aziraphale was making little whimpering noises. Crowley stopped and leaned forward so he could see his face. 

“All right?”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale, his eyes a bit hazy. “This feels _wonderful._ ”

Crowley smiled and kissed his cheek. “Then I’ll move on to the left, shall I?”

Aziraphale nodded and dropped his head down again, as though he was so utterly relaxed he could barely keep it up. Crowley went slower on the left wing, paying special attention to every single feather. And when he was finished, he pressed a soft kiss against Aziraphale's spine, where the celestial wings met the earthly corporation. As Aziraphale let out a sigh and a hum, Crowley climbed off him and put his own wings away. Then he slipped under Aziraphale’s left wing, coming to lie next to him on the bed. 

“Hey,” he said, with a smile. “How’s everything down here?”

“Peachy,” said Aziraphale. His eyes were closed, and the single-word response was a bit slurred. But a satisfied smile played around his lips, and he kept sighing wth pleasure. 

“Yeah, seems like it,” said Crowley. He kissed the angel’s temple and settled in beneath his wing. It was warm there, and unbearably comfortable. Crowley drifted off to thoughts of a chilly winter’s evening, the two of them huddled within a cocoon of their own wings. 

When Crowley awoke, Aziraphale was _gazing_ at him, properly gazing at him. He started to stretch, but then realized that Aziraphale’s wing was still above him. The angel shuffled a bit closer and extended his left wing to cuddle around Crowley even more. Crowley gazed right back at him in retaliation, making it as soppy as he could.

“Thank you for that,” said Aziraphale. “No one has ever groomed my wings before. Well, perhaps in Heaven, very long ago. But certainly nothing like this.”

“It was my pleasure. Really,” said Crowley. “I’m...I’m happy to do it anytime.”

Aziraphale positively beamed at him. “I may take you up on that. Listen, Crowley, can I tell you something?” 

“Anything.” 

“I...I don’t think I want to go back to the bookshop just yet.” 

Crowley blinked. “Well, good job we’ve got a whole two weeks here, then.” 

“No, I mean, even after the two weeks are up. I just don’t think I’m ready.” 

“Sure. Of course. We can go anywhere you like, really. Just name the place. The Bentley can get us anywhere, if she knows what’s good for her.”

Aziraphale smiled. “That’s very sweet. But I don’t know that I want to roam forever either. It’s been nice to have a sort of base of operations for all these years. To have a...a home.” 

Crowley gulped, because he knew what was coming. Because the thing was, Crowley had something stashed in his back pocket for this very moment. It was something he’d done, a rash decision he’d made when the whole Antichrist business had really kicked off. As soon as he’d discussed things with Aziraphale, and once they’d agreed that something had to be done, Crowley went for a long drive out in the countryside. There, a few miles inland from the sea, he’d found himself a lovely pipe dream. 

“I bought a house,” he blurted out. 

Aziraphale’s eyes went adorably wide. “I beg your pardon?” 

“Yeaaaah, I bought a house,” Crowley repeated, dragging one hand over his face. “Long time ago now. Dunno what I was thinking. Well, yeah, I know what I was thinking. I was thinking that maybe, somehow, if we managed to shift sideways into another universe where we could...well, where we could do _this_ , that we’d want a place of our own. Or I would, and maybe you’d go along with it. Humor me or something. Not that I wanted it. I mean, I did, only...fffuck, don’t tell anyone about this.” 

Aziraphale was chuckling, though he was also obviously tearing up. He shifted even closer to Crowley, crowding into his personal space because that was something they did now. It was something they could do. “My dear, who would I tell?” 

“I dunno, somebody,” Crowley groaned. 

“And what exactly would I tell them? That you’ve been perfectly lovely to me for going on 6,000 years now, and you’ve truly outdone yourself with this one?”

“Your eyes are all...gooey. How are you doing that?” 

“Tell me, where is this house?”

~ ~ ~

In a stone cottage on the South Downs, under a thatched roof and beyond an ivy-covered exterior, an angel and a demon were grappling with a plastic Christmas tree.

“You’re sure about this?” Crowley asked, peering at the instruction pamphlet.

“Perfectly,” said Aziraphale. “We can’t go chopping down trees just for frivolous holiday festivities. It’s not environmentally friendly.”

“But the trees are all chopped down now anyway. Right? They chop them down because people will come and buy them. So there are a bunch of trees sitting somewhere, and the damage has already been done, so we could just buy one.”

Aziraphale stared at him, hands on his hips. “My dear, please don’t be difficult at Christmas.”

“I’m always difficult, angel,” said Crowley, with a grin. “If I seem more difficult now, maybe it’s the chemicals from this hideous fake tree.” 

“Yes, all right.” Aziraphale snatched the instructions from him. “You’re not going to bully me into changing my mind, so go right on being difficult if you like. I can set this up on my own.” 

“Ohh, don’t be like that, angel.” Crowley clambered up off the floor and circled Aziraphale, coming to stand behind him. He wrapped his arms around the angel’s ample waist and snuggled in close. “No use in being grumpy at the holidays.”

“Oh? I’d have thought you wanted to spread grumpiness,” said Aziraphale, not budging.

“Sure, yeah. Maybe in the general world...y’know, out there. But not in here, and not with you.”

Crowley pressed his lips ever so gently to the back of Aziraphale’s neck, and he felt the angel shiver in response. He sighed, budging an inch or two. So Crowley continued until he was flicking his tongue at the shell of Aziraphale’s ear.

“All right!” said Aziraphale, tossing the instructions to the floor and turning to face him. “You’ve worn me down, are you quite pleased with yourself?”

“Mmm, quite pleased,” said Crowley, smirking at him. 

At long last, Aziraphale smiled at him and leaned in to nuzzle their noses together. “Well, I am, too. Forget the silly old tree. In fact, why don’t we just…”

With a flourish that was purely for showmanship, Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and the fake tree was suddenly set up. There was, quite pointedly, no angel atop the tree, which Crowley found a rather interesting choice. An even more interesting choice would be a demon atop the tree, and he wondered how long it would take Aziraphale to notice if he added one. For the time being, there was other mischief to get up to. Crowley kissed Aziraphale and snuck his hands up under the angel’s lumpy jumper. 

“Is this from Mrs. Turner?” he asked, breaking the kiss but staying close.

“Who else?” said Aziraphale. “She presented it to me -- wrapped up, mind you -- at the library earlier this week. I promised I would wear it and, well, it is rather warm.”

“It also feels like...lumpy mashed potatoes in clothing form.”

“Oh, shush. It’s actually quite comfortable, and there is a rather astonishing amount of love radiating off of it, so she must truly enjoy knitting. Either that or you’ll soon have to compete with her for my heart.” 

Crowley snorted. “Just because you enjoy something doesn’t mean you’re good at it.” 

“Stop being rude,” said Aziraphale, with a light swat to his arm. “Perhaps it was meant to be lumpy.”

“Oh, sure, yeah. Makes perfect sense.” 

Aziraphale pursed his lips and seemed to decide the conversation about the jumper was over. He simply took Crowley’s hand and led him to the sofa, which had stood in the bookshop not so long ago. Crowley knew what this silence meant -- Aziraphale also thought the jumper was lumpy and unfortunate, but he didn’t want to say anything unpleasant about Mrs. Turner. Oh, he could be as catty as anyone, but he tried to hold his tongue when he genuinely liked a person. Mrs. Turner was an exceedingly kind old woman who went to church every Sunday and was friendly to most everyone in the village. She and Aziraphale took a shine to each other, and it was actually kind of adorable that Aziraphale insisted on wearing the jumper.

Once they were horizontal, Crowley discovered something rather wonderful. A lumpy jumper, when combined with a warm and soft angel, could result in a delightful nap. When he blinked himself awake sometime later, he had no idea how much time had passed.

“Whoa,” he said, rubbing at his eyes. “So does Mrs. Turner drug these jumpers, or…? Hey, what’s up?”

Above him, Aziraphale was frowning, a little crease visible between his brows. When questioned the angel sighed, “I did so like our honeymoon.” 

Crowley pushed himself up, worried that continued proximity to the jumper would result in further napping. “Then why the long face?”

“Well, it’s over, you see.”

“Ah, right.” Crowley shifted, and Aziraphale moved instinctively to allow him more room, so they could sit side by side on the sofa. He laid his hand on the angel’s knee, massaging the hard bone there. “Y’know, we could do it properly next time.”

“Next time?” said Aziraphale, with interest. “And exactly how is Lake Como improper?”

“Oh, Lake Como was perfectly fine. I just meant...we could do it for real. After, y’know, a wedding.” 

Aziraphale’s eyebrows traveled halfway toward his hairline. He cocked his head to one side and fixed Crowley with a teasing smile. “My dear. Is this your shifty way of proposing to me?”

“Mayhaps,” said Crowley, dragging out the word’s final sibilant. 

For a moment, Aziraphale simply considered him. In any other instance, Crowley might wonder if he was being judged and found wanting. But he knew this look, and it was laced with an obscene amount of fondness. At long last, he responded, “Well, I’m afraid I can’t work up a shifty way to agree. So I’ll just say yes and save us the trouble.” 

“Good,” said Crowley, with a grin. “We’ve had about six lifetimes of trouble. I’m up to my eyes in the stuff.” 

“Excellent.” Aziraphale leaned toward him, one soft hand coming up to cradle his jaw. “Oh, I do so love you, dearest. Now, how do you feel about Japan?”

**Author's Note:**

> Look up the Grand Hotel Tremezzo. It's definitely worth your time, especially if you're pining after some travel. 
> 
> I'm @truncated-symphony on tumblr, come find me! :)


End file.
